The City
by August8th
Summary: Trials and tribulations of a petty dealer. It picks up in the second chapter.
1. Here's The Deal

Screams came from the alley below, someone yelled something, a gunshot, and the screaming stopped. Unfortunately I had gotten used to these nightly events; someone always gets hurt at night in this city.

I had been living in an apartment on the eight floor of a run down building. The rent was cheap, and so was everything else. The toilet worked when it wanted to and the fridge would only come to life when there was nothing in it. I never knew appliances could be ironic. The hallway leading to my place was a long mustard yellow corridor that was covered with years of graffiti; most of it was too hard to see due to the poor quality of the lights. The carpet had been torn out in patches, and everything that was still on the ground was old, soiled, and falling apart.

I never used the elevator anymore; someone had been beaten to death in it a few months ago. I unfortunately needed to use it that day. When the doors opened, the mirrored walls were covered in crimson, still moving. The killer probably wasn't even a kilometer away. One of the mirrors had a large crack in it, with a blood stained indentation, presumably from where the guy on the floor had gotten his head smashed in. I took the stairs for the rest of the time I lived there.

I came to this city looking for a job, whether it be legal or not I really couldn't care less. I had originally wanted to set up a small music store, but a friend advised me that people would just walk in and take anything they wanted. If you said anything, they'd shoot you in the face. I didn't have a hard time believing that these things can happen here. I decided my music store might have to wait a while.

I didn't have much money left, and it kept decreasing by the week. I finally decided to phone up my buddy Trent. He had connection in a lot of places with a lot of people, so I figured he could help me out.  
The phone rang twice before he picked up.  
"What do you want?" Trent asked harshly.  
"Nice way to greet a friend" I replied.  
"Oh, hey man, what's up?" His voice changed to something a little less aggressive.  
"I need a job or something, I'm out of cash."  
"So go rob someone." Trent said bluntly, I knew he was only half serious.  
"Seriously though, I need some way to get some cash." I said, not trying to sound too desperate.  
"All right, here's what I'll do. I'll make a few phone calls, see if anyone needs a runner or something, cool?"  
"Yeah man, thanks a lot, I'll call you back in an hour."  
"Later" The phone clicked and it was done, I would phone him back in an hour and see what kind of job Trent had found for me. Hopefully it wasn't too bad."

Bleeding from so many different places, everything was in pain and I think my leg was broken. I just laid there, concentrating on keeping my breathing at a somewhat normal rate. What the hell had just happened? What went wrong?

I handed off the 'product' and when I asked where the cash was all I saw was a fist flying towards my face. Three guys, Russians I think. They had called wanting a few ounces of coke, and Trent had told me they were regular customers. He also told me they didn't take shit, so not to piss them off, which I didn't but they robbed me and beat me regardless.

When I got back to Trent's apartment, bleeding all over the ground looking completely trashed, I explained what had happened. I could tell Trent didn't agree with what they did either.  
"They're fuckin dead!" He got up and got a small phone book out and started dialing some numbers. Each conversation lasted about fifteen seconds.  
"Yo, it's me"  
"What can I do you for?"  
"I need someone fixed"  
"Another one eh? Heheh, you're pissed off at a lot of people this month."  
"Yeah, this one ain't for me."  
"Alright, I'll make some arrangements."  
"Good."  
With that, the conversation was over and he would be looking through his book again, trying to find yet another number. After it was all done he turned and looked at me.  
"We'll find these fuckers. I can guarantee it. I'll show em why no one fucks with me, or anyone I'm on good terms with." He said, sitting back in his chair, it's all he needed to do right now, sit and wait until whoever it was that he phoned to phone back with some news.

So maybe it wasn't the type of job I had in mind. But I didn't want to quit, something good could come out of being a dealer. Probably not, but hey, it's was a good source of income for the time being. I just needed to learn how to fight.

The next day I got a phone call, it was Trent. He sounded a little less enraged than yesterday.  
"Hello?"  
"Hey, it's me."  
"What's up?"  
"You want another job? This time it'll go the way it's supposed to." He said with some assurance behind his voice. I knew as well as he did that what happened was a pretty rare thing, even in an illegal business. Most people pay respect to the ones that supply them with their needs.  
"Sure, just tell me where to be."  
"Alright, I need you to go meet a guy, one of my close friends; he'll be waiting for you at the corner of Mallard St. and 54th. His name is Chavez.  
"I'll be there" I responded. I was glad to have some more business, hopefully this source was reliable.

At three o'clock I was standing at the corner of Mallard St. and 54th waiting for Chavez. I didn't like standing there, I had an insecure feeling someone was watching me. I casually looked around at the windows of the surrounding buildings, looking for someone that might have been looking at me. I didn't see anyone, but that's never a good enough reason to believe you're actually not under someone else's secret supervision.

Fifteen minutes later I saw a man get out of a black 87 mustang that had been parked across the street. He was tall, not huge, but larger than average, and he wore mostly black clothing. He had on a black leather coat, too short to be considered a trench coat, black jeans and dark brown leather boots. His dark sunglasses made it impossible to see where he was actually looking. Summing it up, he looked like the stereotypical street dealer, which is what he was, so I guess it works.

He casually walked up to me, checking around him for anything that looked suspicious probably.  
"You Trent's friend?" He asked. He had a Spanish accent and a deep scratchy voice.  
"Yeah, you must be Chavez, right?" He nodded.  
"Come with me." He said as he began walking back towards his car.  
When we got into his car I noticed a small metal briefcase in the back seat. I assumed I'd be getting whatever it was that was in the case. We began driving down 54th, it was basically an abandoned street, the only people you see there are the strung out junkies and the homeless, which were usually junkies too. As we were driving he reached around and took the case that was resting on the back seat.  
"Here, this is everything you'll need." Passing me the briefcase, I opened it to find six small vials of neon green liquid.  
"What the hell is this?" I questioned. I didn't want to come off as someone that didn't know anything about current drug trends, but I had never seen anything like this.  
"It's something a few of my boys in the lab have been testing out. So far they haven't gotten a good street name for it; they've called it lot 9900C. Don't ask me why, that's just the name they've chosen."  
"Well, what does it do to you? This stuff looks hardcore." Eyeing one of the vials, it was transparent green goo almost.  
"I dunno, I've never done it myself. But from some of the tests, the best way to describe it is like you're falling up. I don't really get what that would mean myself, but I'm sure anyone that tries it would understand. The guy that wants this is all into the chemicals. He buys different kinds, makes them into pill form, and charges something like four times the cost to make them. He's making a small fortune offa this. That's where you come in. I need you to drop this off at his house. It's under surveillance, so don't act stupid. I'll be parked down the block."

We drove silently for the remainder of the trip until we arrived somewhere on the other side of town. I thought my area was bad, but the real slums are the dangerous parts. People lose their lives here and no one notices. If they do notice no one say's anything. You get lost here; you're probably gone for good.He parked a few hundred meters away in an alleyway.  
"So all you have to do is go up to the sixth floor of the building over there, and knock on room 627. When he asks who you are, just say a friend."  
With that I got out of the car with the briefcase and started to walk towards the building. Sirens were going off all around this area. Ambulances, police, and anything else, it was almost constant. I got to the building and opened the steel gates that were the only entrance into the building. I typed in the code 627 and waited for the door to open. It buzzed and I walked in. The elevator was out of service, so I took the stairs.

Halfway between the fourth and fifth flight of stairs was two teenagers, one male, looked really strung out or something, the other one female; she looked about the same as her friend. Both of them looked like they hadn't slept in days. They looked like they were probably off of the street, and sleeping in an alleyway usually didn't involve much sleep. Why they were there I didn't really know. As I walked past them they gave me a glance but mainly focused their attention on the case.  
"You think that's it" The girl whispered  
"It better be."  
"I need this, I need this bad."  
"I know me too."

I got to the door, number 627, it was already open. I wasn't sure if I was taking that as a good sign or not. Cautiously, I walked in, knocking three times before stepping in.  
"Over here man" Said a voice from down the hall. I walked over to a doorway and inside the room was a man sitting on a couch in front of a television, rolling some type of cigarette on the table.  
"Hey, just have a seat over there," He said, pointing over at the couch adjacent to his. As I went to sit down, the man reached into one of his pockets and drew out a large amount of bills. He looked at it for a moment, and then tossed it onto the table.  
"Here you go, now I believe that's mine." He said, eyeing the case.  
"Yeah, all yours buddy." I said with a smile. "By the way, how's that stuff make you feel?"  
He looked at me questioningly; I guess he expected that I knew what I was talking about.  
"It's kind of like being in a dream, but you're awake. You're just free. Free to feel how you want to feel or something. I dunno, but a lot of people really like this stuff, so I'm probably going to be talking to you again sometime soon.  
"Well, whenever you need it, just give us a call I guess." With that, I stood up, and walked out, putting the large amount of bills in my inside pocket of my jacket.

Walking down the stairs I noticed that the two teenagers had vacated. The only sign of them was a smoldering cigarette butt that was only half stepped on. The second I got outside I started to become paranoid. There were sirens close, very close. I began to walk back to the car, looking around casually for anything suspicious. I didn't see anything, but I still had that weird feeling that someone was watching me. I got in the car and shut the door. Chavez looked at me, took a pull from his cigarette and started the engine.

"I trust everything went okay." He said.  
"Yeah, I have you're cash right here." I said as I pulled the large wad of bills out of my pocket.  
"So what's my cut?" I asked. I was hoping for something good, even though all I did was drop something off.  
"Take this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small roll of bills. I gave him the cash I had, and he gave me the stuff he pulled out of his pocket. It was about a thousand or so. Not too shabby.

We came to a stoplight and waited. I looked in the rear view mirror to discover a squad car two cars back. I didn't really think much of it. You see cop cars all over the place. When the light turned green we turned left, so did the cop.  
"Turn right." I said, keeping my eyes on the car behind us.  
"Why?" Chavez asked.  
"Just do it man, I want to see something."  
"Alright man, but I don't get why you want to turn right, we gotta go straight."  
The car turned right at the next corner, and my prediction was correct, the cop did too.  
"We're being followed." I said quietly.  
"Shit. Well, as long as we act cool and don't do anything stupid we can't get in trouble for anything." Chavez said in an assuring voice.  
All of a sudden the lights started flashing. The siren chirped to life and the police were on our ass.  
"I still got a lot of shit in the back of this car man, I can't let them find it." Chavez said nervously. Out of nowhere his facial expression changed. He looked pissed.  
"Screw it, we ain't getting caught, not today." He shifted into fourth and floored it. The cop sped up with us, but it wasn't catching up completely. Chavez shifted into fifth and the old 87 mustang that we were in actually outran the cop car. We drove using mainly back roads until we reached my apartment. When I got out Chavez thanked me for the help and told me I'd probably be getting some more tasks sometime soon. With that I returned to my apartment.

When I got up to my floor I walked off the elevator and down the hall. A television was blaring in my neighbors place, it sounded like a soap opera or something.  
When I got to my apartment I walked in and sat on the couch. Turned on the TV, and sat back. It had been an interesting day to say the least and I had a feeling there were going to many more opportunities to come. As long as I don't get killed I think I'll be okay.

The phone rang at around seven. I picked it up.  
"Hello"  
"Hey, it's me." It was Trent. "How'd it go?"  
"Good, everything went as planned."  
"Good, good. You know those guys that robbed you yesterday? One of my buddies found em for ya. Hehe, and let's just say they won't be doing that type of shit in this city ever again." He said with a somewhat twisted tone to this voice. The guys that had beat the hell out of me were getting theirs, but for some reason I think they were getting it a hell of a lot worse.  
"Thanks man, I appreciate all this."  
"Hey, no problem man, what are friends for right?"  
"Yeah, I guess so."  
"Cool, so I guess you'll be needing another job right?"  
"Yup, got anything?"  
"Not right now, but I will soon, trust me, you'll be among the first to know about some good stuff to come in the future. I'll give you a call later." With that there was a click on his end of the line and it was done.


	2. So, This is life

I figured I'd take it easy for a couple of days, lay low if it was at all necessary. I didn't really expect to be getting any new jobs that soon either. I figured I'd hit a fuckin bar, alcohol seemingly less hazardous to the health at this point in time. With that I wound up some cash lying around the apartment, and headed out the door. The bruises on my face had faded slightly, but my chances with the ladies weren't looking too good without having to pay, well, for more than a few drinks at least.

I wandered the streets for about half an hour and found a small tavern in a heavy residential area; it was right at the base of some skyscraper of an apartment building. The place was pretty full; the sign above the door maxed the capacity at fifty. The place sort of stops for a second as I walk in, almost every eye in the room does a second look kind of twitch, the bartender walks to the elbow of the L shaped bar, directly towards the entrance to the bar, and says,

"Y..you can't be in here buddy, w..we don't need no trouble tonight buddy." The old bartender says, he sounded like an old east coast drunk that cleaned himself up just enough to get a job in the bar on account of the free booze, upon which he was undoubtedly indulging.  
"I didn't come here to cause shit buddy, I just need a fuckin drink."  
"Well um were all outta drinks there bud, you'll have to go someplace else." Was he fucking kidding me?  
"Are you fucking kidding me?"  
"Look, we just don't want no trouble here is all." I thought I needed to be trashed to start shit with people, but being sober was starting to prove easier than ever. It wasn't worth my time or effort to fend off all the loyal customers of this dingy little pub, so I left, making a mental note to do something about that when there's nothing better to do all I wanted to do was get drunk.

So I walked on, twenty minutes later I found myself near a little bar, independent of other buildings that looked a touch lower class than the other, but possibly more accepting. I walked in, and the twitch was only seen from the bartender. He watched me approach the bar. "How's it doin?" He asks. "Could be better, could be worse." I say, with a meager smile. He smirks, "What'll it be?" "Anything draught, doesn't matter." As I take a seat at the bar.

The place is dimly lit, the smell of ancient nicotine mixed with the ever present smoke mixed with alcohol and that weird smell that comes off of the extremely depressed; like their heart is still beating, but their body isn't really willing to keep on living, so it begins to rot, sort of metaphorically, but it's noticeable visually and through scent. It was weird, but I sort of felt safe here.

A few drinks later I began to look around, I had sort of stuck to looking at the liquor bottles lined amongst the walls, and decided there may be better things to see. Alcohol has always been like a little immediate confidence boost, with no time to really conceive how the events that I willingly create can be dealt with. My eyes locked with a few people, most turned away after a second or so, but one guy from the far end of the place, stared straight back. I nodded, and he nodded back. I continued to look at him and he stood up and started walking towards me. He looked like he was in his fifties, but it kind of looked like he was actually thirty or so, with years of substance abuse under his belt. "You know me man?" He says. "Nah, can't say that I do." I say. "Then why the fuck you nodding at me man?" He asks. "Honestly man, I don't know, I was just looking around, beer makes me do stuff I wouldn't normally do I guess." Again, no mood for fight, just want be drunk please.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd look the fuck over there," He says, pointing to the other side of the bar. "Will do man, will do." I say as I sort of turn back towards the bar. "Good, it's a good choice there buddy." He says and walks back to his seat. I order another beer and leave. It's only eleven, I'm sort of buzzed, I figured walking around smoking cigarettes and weed for the next few hours could go either really good or really bad, but rationalizing with myself, I figured it was still worth it. I had a knife, but it'd probably be my demise at this point in time.

So I walked, for about an hour, occasionally going down one of the innumerable hidden alleyways or side streets this city is infamous for. The sidewalks were lengthened due to these alleyways, being the number three place on the cities most likely predator locations. People always walk right near the road due to this. I heard it was just one guy, who snapped, realized that he could just drag people into these little tiny alleyways, no cameras, bad lighting, and have his way. I'd sort of like to believe this is just one guy, but it's a whole fuckin bunch of these whack jobs. There's people in this fucking city that literally hunt humans down for fun, and it takes the defense department up to and over a week at a time to catch most.

I really question why I came here, of all places, to build a music store. I could have just stayed where I was, selling drugs, playing poker, the lotto, and off track betting. I really tried to remember why I came here, but it didn't come to me. What the fuck could have convinced me? No tourist pamphlet can be that convincing. Another few blocks and I would be home, I didn't particularly want to go, but I had started to get sober, and that wasn't something I needed at this point.

As I approached the building I noticed a guy leaning against the walls opposite the elevator, I decided the stairs were always good, even when you're drunk, maybe even especially. The lights were so dim, all the plastic coverings coated with years of dirt and spit and other shit that I can't recall seeing anywhere else. As I approached the seventh I was relatively winded, that aside, I heard the door directly above me slam open and footsteps, two people. One jumped down the first flight, the second flight and then abruptly stopped when he saw me. He was carrying my guitar, no case, and a DVD player.

He quickly tried to run past but I grabbed him by the throat, took out his left knee and grabbed my guitar before he hit the ground. As I turned to rest my Washburn against the wall the other guy, carrying my Pignose amp in one hand, and all of the movies I owned, came crashing into me, he turned the corner saw me kneeling and his friend gasping for oxygen so he dropped the movies and the amp and tried to kick me in the face. I drew back in time, punched the first guy in the solar plexus, hopefully taking even more air away from him and, in all my drunken glory, uppercut the second guy. It hurt like fuck, I broke a finger, hit him right under the chin but he sprawled back, dazed a little, and stepped on a few of the fallen movies. I went up to him and punched him in the stomach a few times, and I got the feeling he wanted to tap out, so I threw him down the stairs. The gasping man on the ground watched helplessly as I threw his friend head first down a ten set, and then focused his eyes back on me. I grabbed him by the opening of his jacket and lifted him up. He looked relieved; he had almost regained his breath.

"Shouldna done it." I said. And with that, I tossed him down the flight as well. At this point I didn't even care to see if he landed on his friend or not, I just WANT BE DRUNK. I fucking hate this place. I grabbed my guitar, and picked up a few select movies, then I realized my player had been smashed, the movies weren't that great, so I tossed them back on the ground, grabbed my Pignose and proceeded upstairs. The door was open, smashed in, and the place was trashed, but it was trashed when I last left it regardless. Drawers, cupboards, everything on hinges had been searched. There was very little of value in this shitpit, but then it occurred to me, I had a silver ring, sentimentally valued, that had been given to me as a gift a long time ago. I didn't wear it all that often. It had been in the bottom drawer of a dresser in the bedroom.

It was missing, so I decided to see if they had dropped that too. I figured they would have had enough time to sort themselves out and fuck off, so the ring could be gone, but if there was still a chance, than why not. Both were still lying at the bottom of the stairs face down beside each other, I looked around for the ring, couldn't see it. One of them still had it. Neither was moving, and I didn't really like how they were able to maintain such awkward positions. I turned the first one over and it became apparent, his head flopped and gave into gravity fully. Great, now I gotta hide a body. I searched his pockets and found money, about five hundred, and a nice gold Zippo, but no ring. I turned the second guy over and realized he too had a broken neck. The good thing was, he had my ring. As I was placing the ring on my finger the guy who had been waiting outside had been creeping up the stairs and turned to see me looming over his dead friend with my back to him.

"Hands up fucker" He says, real aggressive like, walking towards me, "Or I blow yer fucking brains out right here and now." I wasn't about to have this shit-for-brains crackhead shoot me in the back of the head for the five hundred and twenty bucks I had in my pocket or the nice Zippo. I raised my hands slowly and waited for him to say something else. "Gimme everythi..," Spinning around I grab the barrel of his gun with my left hand and push his arm up in the air and to his right. He let out a gasp and grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling and ripping it. A shot went off, followed by another, both into the floors above. I twisted the barrel downwards and into his stomach. He leaned forward with surprisingly little resistance so I took the chance to bring my elbow down onto his temple with all the force I could muster. The moment my elbow impacted he flinched and a third shot went off, this time into his lower intestine. He screamed, released the piece of my shirt that he had managed to tear off and fell to his knees.

I tore the gun away from him and stepped back a few feet, breathing heavily I watched the man lie down and begin to cry. "I'm comin, I'll be there soon, I can almost feel it. Momma, I'm coming!" He continued to scream into the night air, the sound of his voice echoing through the dark corridor. "Lemme help." I said. His moaning stopped for a second and he looked at me. I raised the gun and fired once into his forehead. It was a big gun, a six shooter, the splash on the wall made it obvious it wasn't a sissy toy gun like a 9 mill. I pocketed it, spit on the body and walked away. There's just some people that don't get it, you don't go around pointing fucking six shooters at the back of other people's heads. Fucking people. Luckily, I had a good lawyer, and claimed it was self defense; I got two years for shooting the guy in the head, it being deemed unnecessary measures by the courts. So in reality, he wasn't that good of a lawyer, but it could have been worse.


	3. A Job's a Job's a Job

I heard that most prisons are pretty much schools that graduated petty thugs into full fledged criminals. This was true. Organizations had recruiters come in and pick potential future members a few times every year, depending on race or social disposition it seemed like they would pick guys that looked not necessarily intimidating, but people that blended into a crowd, the non specific members were commonly picked up, their sentence 'reduced' by members that are working on the inside, and they're given a place in the group, if they moved up, good on em, if they died, the recruiting process is repeated.

That was something learned within the first six months, before that I was obviously in the dark about many things, but I found my crowd, kept to myself, didn't start shit but put up a hell of a fuckin fight if someone tried anything on me, and did what I had to do to survive. And then everything sort of clicked, one of those recruiters saw me get in a fight and that was it. He approached me after I'd gotten out of a sixty hour stay in solitary for beating another inmate into critical condition. He had it coming, but the warden was a toughass, which I didn't really didn't argue against. He's the warden for fucksake, its part of the job. Regardless, it attracted some good attention.

Its lunchtime, we all get our meals and sit at out respective tables, determined solely on ethnic group, so naturally I sat with the white guys. The table is mostly occupied by this point in time; I get the end seat, adjacent to a guy name Mort, who's been serving time for assault on multiple officers and across from an empty seat. As I'm eating, a guy I'd seen around before but never talked to walks over to the table with his tray and sits in front of me.  
"You inarested in a job on the outside?" He asks quietly, he had an Irish undertone, and you could sort of tell just based on stereotypical impressions. Red bushy hair, lots of battle scars and something that resembled moonshine on his breath.  
"What kind of job you talking about?" I ask, trying not to sound like a pompous piece of shit, just someone being cautious.  
"We need a couple of good guys; got a couple big heists, need some people that can disappear real fast. You up for it boy?" At this point in my life, I figured 'why the fuck not, it's not like anyone's going to miss me, and vice versa, family's gone, don't have a steady girl, don't particularly feel the need for one, and where the hell am I going to get a job I can keep that pays well and requires little to no school credentials.'  
"I'm in. What now?"  
"We'll worry about that in a few days, sit tight, I'll get back to ya." With that, we shook hands and he walked in the same direction he had come.

End result being I had to 'off' a couple of people in the prison. The were a few really easy kills, just guys in for getting caught with stuff like fraud, they duped the wrong people; people that believed imprisonment wasn't deemed a worthy repentance. The hardest one, the hit that got me back on the streets was the staff sergeant for ward b. Each section has a rank structure. The staff sergeant was the guy that the chief officer assigns to delegate guards in accordance to the situation. Basically he was the guy that told everyone in ward B what to do; therefore it affected the treatment of the inmates. This sergeant had offended a family of organized criminals by apparently focusing abusive and excessive punishments specifically to members of this family.

So, the sgt. isn't around all the time, and when he is, he's being briefed by all his lackeys. Reports have to come in every three hours, activity of certain high priority inmates; psychos just borderline of the loony bin ('twitchers' I like to call em), public enemies that have high attention in the media, etc. The only time this guy is alone is when he's leaving his office in the far west of the building to take a piss about twenty meters down the hall.

I was within earshot of the pisser that he used, waiting until I could hear him approach I tapped the bars on my cell. I knew it would send him into his whole patrol skit. Immediately after I had tapped I could see the light of a flashlight beaming down the walk. Footsteps aggressively getting closer. I stood with my face to the wall and got as close to the bars as I could and knocked again. Footsteps ceased, the flashlight now focused at the opposite wall of my call. The few cautious footsteps towards my cell were barely audible, but it was what I was relying on. The second I knew he was beside me I reached and managed to get him by the neck. I pulled using my legs as leverage against the bars and mashed his face in between the bars, then using my bed as leverage I pushed him away from the cell. He toppled over the rail and down three stories.

The smack of his body woke up three quarters of the inmates, a few on the first floor were awoken by the spray that hit their cells. Little taps against the bars, random hitting of objects, I think it was like the most applause you could ever expect to hear in there. The sirens rang that night; but they couldn't pick a cell to blame it on. The entire top floor was first to be interrogated. Every inmate had to line up outside their cell with their hands out and teeth exposed. They were looking for fresh cuts or newly missing teeth, everyone knew this sergeant as a die hard character and wouldn't have gone out without a trace. Luckily, he did, almost. I had a red mark on my arm where I had rubbed it against the bar. "What's that?" The cop asks, pointing at the redness. "You ever slept on one of those beds?" I asked, nodding back at my bunk. He just gave me a puissant glare, like if he stared hard enough he would actually decipher something. He grabbed my hands and inspected them closely. Cuts and scrapes all over, but nothing fresh, I didn't even lose a scab.

A few weeks later I get the word that I'm being released on good behavior. Proof the system works, if it's completely crooked. I was let out and didn't hear anything for a few weeks, then, after finding a low rate apartment, having to deal small amount of cheap drugs to survive I finally got the call.  
The phone rings at noon, I pick it up.  
"Yeah?"  
"Anitai, get ready, somebody'll be here in five minutes. Black Mercedes Coupe. Bring a weapon." And then the line goes dead. I pull on some pants, thought of what kind of weapon they were talking about. I had never really thought of picking up a piece, but I'm sure I'll be able to get one offa one of my new connections.

I was waiting out front having a smoke when the coupe pulled up; I got in the left side back seat. There were three men in the car; I didn't recognize any of them. The one in the front passenger seat turns around and takes off his sunglasses. "Anitai, you've shown the bosses you can hold your own, we're going to be using you for some stuff that calls for gritty candidates." I figured it was more of a compliment to be gritty than an insult, I nodded. "What do you need me to do?" The guy to my right pipes up, "This ain't gonna be an easy task, we're needing a few people taken out in their sleep, gotta look like a suicide, you're the bitch in all this."  
"What the fuck you mean bitch?"  
"Don't get all prissy on me, the bitch is the one that's gotta actually pull off the plan, we're the one's that are going to be telling you what to do, you just follow your instructions, we're the fucking people that got you out of prison remember. You survive, don't get caught, then you're on your way to doing good in this business. If you die, or get caught and rat, which means you're about as good as dead anyways, then, well, you just weren't a good enough candidate. Got me?"  
"Gotcha man." That was the last word spoken on the ride. We approached an old factory on the far east of the town.  
Turns out these people weren't just any schmucks on the street, there were three senators that were getting a little too close to talking about some 'government' properties that had proven 'beneficial' to members of certain 'public groups'. I heard this from the guy on the right as we were walking to the building from the parking lots. He used finger quotes upon mentioning his 'key' points to pretty much everything. It was an interesting quirk.

The doors in the front of the building had been chained shut years ago, there was a fire exit with a brick wedged in keeping the door open. I followed the lackeys into their mysterious Scooby Doo headquarters and down a set of stairs. The place was in pretty good condition on the inside, fully lit, surprisingly meager amount of grime considering the factory was probably close to a century old. There were many rooms leading down a hallway, doors shut except for one, which we walked towards. The guy on my left goes for the handle of the door adjacent to the ajar. "You'd think it be that one." I said nodding towards the door to his right. "Yeah," he says with a slight laugh. "What's in the other one?" I asked. "Shotgun on a chair wired to the door."

We walked into the room. I almost lost myself; it was like being in a fucking gangster movie. There were six guys sitting around the table playing poker and smoking cigars, pieces on the table three of em' hairlined. They looked up from their haze of smoke. "Ooz dis?" the guy with the least darkest pair of sunglasses at the table says. "Anitai boss." Righty says. "Anitai uh? I tawt youz was an Asian, good fuckin guys for this kind of shit. But hey, youz heard the fuckin rules right? You could still pull this off, ever got shot before?" A few of the guys around the table snicker a little. I just shook my head. "Well lemme tell youz dis boy. It fuckin hurts, get used to it." With that he and his 'crew' were laughing, and then coughing, and then they caught their breath.

"Now, let's get down to bizzniss boys. We've been figuring out how to off dese guys for some time now, and the boys 'ave come up with a pretty fuckin airtight plan if youz ask me. We got ahold of some untraceable chem that can off a guy like it was a heart attack even after da autopsy n shit. We'z also been studying some of the blueprints to their houses, workplaces and commonalities, you know, like hang outs and shit, scopin out what time e's usually doin certain 'particular' things." They all did that fuckin 'finger' thing. "So ere's what we've got. The first one, guy named Don Murray, fuckin cocksucker is the one that signed this deal in the first place, we get our labs for 'experimentin' and shit, and they get a forty percent cut in the money raised." "experimentin?" I was curious. "Yeah, meth, blow, you know, now shaddup ya stupid fuck, I'm talking ere!" Brief silence. " SO, youz is gonna be planting this shit in their drink whenever they happen to take one, got me?" "Gotcha." He didn't like that I didn't show him too much respect. But I think he figured I was gonna get shot in the face pretty fast anyways so he didn't really let it be known that it was pissing him off. "This whole fuckin thing is gonna take a while. We're takin em out slowly, as to not raise too much suspicion. You'll do this hit, and in a few weeks we'll ave somethin else for ya.

Not like I had too much choice in the matter, but it was an acceptable job. You gotta do what you gotta do sometimes. It was all set up; there was a car that would be waiting for me in front of a designated coffee shop down the street from my place. I had been briefed; they had given me a floor plan of Murray's residence, and a brief list of points of observation. Basically what time he had been reported doing what. IT was ten thirty when I got picked up, got a block away from the destination at about eleven. The driver stops the car and turns around. "Don't fuck dis up. Got me?" We got five guys watching every fuckin move, you even so much as fart suspiciously and we'll have a sniper shoot you through you the back of the head." "Gotcha." I said. I didn't believe them about the snipers, but I figured that I would be better off just getting the job done and not fucking around.

TBC.


End file.
